Journal of a Forgotten Soldier
by Gamemaker John
Summary: In war-ravaged Panem, a young girl finds a journal. A journal that tells of a man caught up in the rebellion of District Eight. A journal that tells of a family struggling to survive the resulting war. The girl reads the pages that show how a country entered a crippling revolution...and how the men that became the reluctant soldiers were forgotten in the chaos.


The sun cast long shadows on the forgotten house that stood at the far end of the grim street. It was painted with subtle hues as the horizon began to swallow up the giant sun in a splendor of colors. Brilliant orange, bright yellow, dark red. The factories of District 8 churned out chemicals into the air that burnt the throats of the citizens who had the displeasure to live there. But it made the sunsets all the more beautiful.

The house was an old one. The shutters lacked any color. The bricks were blackened. The grass was yellow and the sidewalk was cracked from the plethora of ugly weeds growing through. The door was slightly ajar, calling anyone in who wasn't put off by the melancholy aura. Into this world of cheerlessness and misery, a young girl appeared.

She ducked her head as she walked down the grim street. Utter silence was broken by the sound of her footsteps and the slight whistling of the wind as it whipped her yellow hair around her head. She was wearing a threadbare jacket and simple cargo pants, but her shivering made it clear that her clothing did nothing to protect her from the bitter cold. She clasped her arms together to try and keep warm, but to no avail. Her face was red from the chill and her teeth began to chatter. Her cheekbones stuck out against her plain frame. She was thin, too thin for a girl her age.

She stopped suddenly as she approached the house. Her eyes took in the featureless wall. Then she determinedly walked through the front door to find a sight even more miserable than the exterior.

The walls were blackened by a fire from ages ago. A thin layer of ash and dust covered everything, the walls, the floor, the broken pieces of machinery in the corner. All that was left of the furniture was ashes and bits of wood. The floor was broken in several places; cracks snaked through the wood and made it almost impassable. Everything had the color of charcoal plastered onto it.

The air still stank of smoke.

The girl looked around. There was once a fire here, a bad one. The flames must have licked the walls and turned them to ash with just its touch. Fire was indeed a destructive force.

She crept across the floor slowly as she tried to avoid stepping on any of the debris.

Something was on the floor. Something that looked like a body. The girl didn't want to look closer; she'd seen enough bodies in her short lifetime. Still, she couldn't ignore the stench of death that pervaded everything.

The girl peered into a side room. The doorway was completely gone; swallowed by the flames. In the next room, the situation was the same there. Almost nothing remained inside the entire house. It was a miracle that the place was still standing; the bricks had largely crumbled into dust.

She stepped over a teddy bear as she walked into the room. The bear's smiling face was distorted by the fire into a menacing grimace. The colorful fur was black now, just like everything in the ruins.

She took a moment to search the kitchen for food. She didn't hope to find any; the house had been empty for a long time, a long enough time for any food to rot. So she was pleased when she found an unopened container of canned peaches. In seconds, she grabbed a knife and stabbed the can open. She ate the sweet fruit with her grubby hands, growling with pleasure as the sugary food touched her tongue. Anything fancier than rice and beans was a treat for her.

She dropped the can to the ground once it was gone and licked her fingers to savor every drop of the nectar. Once her fingers were licked clean, the girl searched for more food but only found rot and mold in the kitchen. When she opened the broken pantry, she found a nest of cockroaches inside. She quickly shut the door.

She was about to leave when she looked in the kitchen sink. The girl found a slim black book lazily discarded in the metal basin.

The book was bound with worn leather and full of yellowed pages. The paper crinkled as she touched it. It was amazing that the flames hadn't gotten to its fragile pages. The girl opened the book tentatively. The words were carefully scrawled on with black ink, not printed on by a machine. This wasn't a book, it was a journal.

The girl skimmed through the pages. She hadn't seen words in a long time, not since her schooling years. But she still remembered. She remembered the art of feeling the words come to life as her eyes touched the pages. She remembered the joy that came from being drawn into something. She remembered how she loved reading.

She sat down on the ash-covered ground. It was not the most auspicious place. But she was alone, her stomach wasn't rumbling, and she had plenty of time. She didn't live in a happy world; it might be worth it to escape it for a few hours.

And so the girl began to read.


End file.
